Magician's Misery
by Seregwen Morthil
Summary: [Richard Merrill Sits in the Library reposted!] Mairelon considering Lord Franton's offer to his ward. Spoilers for Mairelon the Magician and Magician's Ward


Authoress' Note: Hello, my dear readers, (if there are any) I am back! After a terrible time in which my mother forbade me to write, publish, review, read, or do anything with I have been freed. I now repost this, my first ficlet, for your eyes. I was so happy when so many people reviewed; it killed me to delete it.

Summary: Beginning of fic. Richard Merrill is highly depressed. Lord Franton has made an offer of marriage to his ward, Kim. Richard Merrill is in love with Kim. Richard Merrill drinks brandy (which somebody told me is reddish, not golden). End of fic.

Warnings: um, some drinking, but not alcoholism or addiction; nothing really inappropriate.

And now for your expectant eyes, the frenzied populace will rise... actually, just a miserable magician.

**Magician's Misery**

I sat in the library, staring at the table, the fire crackling softly in the background. I gazed idly at its cluttered surface; my eyes took in the grain and color of the wood: a rich walnut, dark with age; the smooth worn surface, the soft shine of the film of grease that a solitary candle's light revealed. My brain, however, was far away, on more unpleasant matters.

So it had finally happened. The fifth Marquis of Harsfeld, the young Lord Franton, had asked for my ward's hand in marriage. Why did that bother me so much? Why did the thought of Kim going away, Kim getting married, Kim marrying another man— it more than just bothered me; I hated the idea.

She would say yes, most probably. She seemed to like him, and he was quite obviously head over heels in love with her. Even if she didn't love him, she might marry him just to escape from Aunt Agatha. And the rest of the Season. A cynical chuckle escaped my lips as I remembered her aversion to fancy clothing. She would soon have a bridal trousseau to acquire, poor thing.

Poor thing? How was she a poor thing? She was going to get married, for heaven's sake. I was the one with no magic. I was the one who would have to let her go. I would have to give her away to someone else. I would have to stand in the background and pretend to smile, all the while hating that idiotic young Marquis, who would be smirking smugly because he had won—

I shook myself mentally. Kim was not my property. The Marquis wasn't an idiot; I had rather liked him when I had met him. Why this sudden hostile reaction, one might ask?

I knew why; I had known since the ball.

I loved her.

I.

Loved.

Kim.

Not as a daughter or as a ward… as a woman. And now some other man wanted to make her his wife. Damn!

I stood up abruptly. Suddenly I remembered how she had looked earlier in the week, at her come-out ball; in her silken peach dress, whirling across the floor in time to the music… She had been wearing the little golden pendant I gave her. It was shaped like her first piece of magic; fiat lux. Let there be light. She had looked gorgeous as I danced with her, reluctantly relinquishing her to her admirers. I had known then that I loved her, as I watched her with her swains; I probed the knowledge like a sore tooth. Yes, I most emphatically could and did love her. I had been so uptight this week, only waiting for the inevitable, waiting for her to fall in love withsomeone else.

I strode over to the wall wchich hid aconcealed cabinet; I needed some liquid protection.Years of spying on the French had taught me that in some cases, it is best to be drunk.I really didn't want to have to tell Kim about Franton's proposal while sober. At least, not while completely sober. As always, there was a cut glass decanter of fine brandy and two glasses in the secret compartment. I snatched them from the ancestral hiding place and went back to my chair. I swept a patch of the table clean with my arm, scattering papers onto the floor. With a clunk, I dropped into my seat and placed the brandy and two glasses on the bare patch. I stared at the golden-red liquid for about a minute; then I poured myself a glass and downed it. The fiery liquid cascaded down my throat like a molten copper waterfall. I replayed the past few weeks in my mind.

At the ball, Kim had led the dancing with me; she had been wearing the necklace I gave her. That was a good thing. But, she had also been wearing flowers on her wrist: Franton's flowers. Bad thing. I knew I couldn't ask Kim to marry me; even if she would have me, I was twenty-eight, and she only seventeen. Or was it eighteen? Anyway, Franton was only about twenty-one: much closer to her age. Even if she didn't take Franton, there would soon be someone else. I recalled the Marquis' uneasy remark; "It is a bit soon, sir, but if you'll excuse my frankness, I was rather hoping to beat the competition to the gate, if you see what I mean, sir. That is— I know of several other young men who view Miss Kim as a prospective wife, besides myself, that is, and if I don't speak now, I might not get a chance to."

Beat the competition to the gate— what does he think courtship is, a horse-race? I should have known that Kim would get offers. Why hadn't I listened to her in the first place and not presented her, I wondered, pouring myself some more brandy. I could've spared myself this whole mess. I ran my free hand through my hair as I gulped the burning alcohol down. Franton was rich, titled, and about seven or eight years younger than me.

What could I possibly give Kim? She saw me as a companion, a, a friendlyuncle, a guardian… Not as a husband or a lover. Not as a man. Just as I had not seen her as a woman. Well, she hadn't been one when we first met; she had been a scruffy laddish girl, who had been masquerading as a boy her whole life. And first impressions do mean something, whatever the storybooks say.

It must have been hard for her, I thought abstractly as I drank yet another glass of brandy, to learn to be a girl, after trying to hide it for so long. She had been rather nervous learning to dance. It must have been like a reflex, I decided; her subconscious was afraid of me finding out that she was a girl. I guess she had a hard time trying to tell it that I already knew. Gods, how I knew.

And now I couldn't tell her. Until I could gauge her reaction to Franton's proposal, I had to keep silent. Why must life be so difficult? I groaned and ran my free hand through my hair once more. I had to condemn myself to a living hell, such as this past week had been; sleepless nights while I thought of her, only a corridor or so away, asleep in her room; days when I worked feverishly with Kerring and Shoreham, trying to forget that some other man was sitting close to her and whispering in her ear; ignoring Mother's careful glances: she thinks I've been mooning over the loss of my magic. I let her; it is better that she remain ignorant of the truth. I've really been mooning over Kim.

Kim…

She was so close, yet so far away.

I would have to wait and see.

I drank yet another glass of brandy, then sat back and waited for Kim to arrive.

_-Finis- _

So... what's the verdict? Please review, please please please... I know you're out there!

-Seri


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